When Professor Quentillus collapsed into his chair with a meaningless grunt signaling the end of class, everyone in the lab exhaled simultaneously. Students began hastily gathering their things as if escaping from captivity. As I slowly packed my bag, I felt movement beside me.
It was Felissia. She had turned in her chair to face me. There was no trace of yesterday's tense expression on her face. "Hey," she said softly. "Thanks for the help during class. I was really stuck there."
My heart quickened momentarily. The voices inside me began to battle. "Be genuine, smile at her," urged one side. The other reminded me of one of those social interaction videos I'd watched all night: "Never appear too eager. Indifference creates intrigue."
I listened to the second voice.
"Oh, that?" I said, adopting as casual a tone as possible. "It wasn't important, just a small detail." I zipped up my bag and stood up. "See you later."
Without another word, I walked out of the lab with quick steps. I didn't dare look back, but I could imagine her confused face. Yes, I thought as I walked down the corridor. That was the right move. Not being too attentive draws interest, right? According to the videos I watched, that's how it worked.
The grins of Cassius and Gaius waiting for me at the end of the corridor interrupted my internal calculations.
"Well, well, well!" Cassius said, throwing his arm around my shoulder. "Showman Octavian was on stage again! You had the professor fascinated."
Gaius added, "Just the professor? There seemed to be some electricity between you and Felissia, huh? All that whispering..."
Just as I was about to give them a clever response, Marcus, who had been standing quietly beside us, spoke unexpectedly. Looking at me from behind his glasses, he asked in his usual quiet but clear voice: "When did you learn those four programming languages?"
The suddenness and sincerity of his question caught me off guard. For a moment, I lowered that fake mask. "Ah... during high school," I said honestly. "I didn't have many friends. So I devoted myself to that. I had a lot of free time."
This brief moment of silence was broken again by Cassius's mocking voice. "Looks like you made good use of your free time. Will you use that knowledge to give Felissia private lessons now?"
I put my mask back on. With a confident smile, I looked at them. "Friends, I've told you before. There's no need for tactics. Just being yourselves is enough."
As they laughed at this fake wisdom, I said goodbye and left campus.
Walking alone toward the bus stop, the irony of my last sentence hit me like a slap. 'Just being yourselves is enough.' What a big lie. Who was I anyway? That lonely kid who buried himself in code because he had no friends in high school? Or this cool philosopher who advises everyone today? I was neither. I was playing a role.
But it seemed to be working. Felissia was confused, my friends were impressed, and even the professors had noticed me. Maybe this was how to create a new "me." I had to play this fake character so well that one day, it would become real.
With these thoughts, I reached the stop and boarded the usual crowded bus. I found an empty seat by the window and instinctively moved to pull out my class notes from my bag. Then I hesitated. Should I study on the road again? But what would I study? I hadn't learned anything new today.
I turned my gaze outside. Apexia's massive buildings were painted red with the setting sun's light. As the bus slowly moved, I thought about the ninety-minute journey ahead. Every day the same road, the same seat, the same buildings... How repetitive will my life be like this? This commute is terrible. I may apply for the dorm on campus next semester.
This idea dawned on me like a bright hope. Living in the dorm meant meeting new people, experiencing campus life, and ending this endless journey. But then a bitter reality crept into my mind. I can't even iron. What would I do without Mom? Still being dependent on my mother at this age... How embarrassing.
I leaned my head against the window. I don't need to review anything for today. Maybe the only thing I learned today was not to be clingy and talkative. Speaking when appropriate—yes, that was a sign of maturity, if I understood correctly.
I looked at the other young people on the bus. Most had earphones in their ears. Muffled, rhythmic sounds leaked from the earphones of the kid beside me. Music... I hated it. I couldn't fill my head with those nonsensical lyrics. It was already overflowing with thoughts, analyses, and plans.
Then another idea occurred to me. But I could listen to classical music. I liked this idea. It could increase my focus and... make me seem like I have refined tastes. This could be a great addition to the "new me" image.
The bus was approaching my stop. I looked at my reflection in the window. A tired, tense, and confused face looked back at me. All these images, roles... Why am I so afraid of being myself to be accepted? Am I really making a mistake by turning into someone fake? I'm so confused.
In the midst of these contradictions, I got off the bus. I walked to my house door and deeply breathed as I inserted the key into the lock. When I stepped through the door, all the day's fatigue and all the wars in my mind entered with me.
My mother, Aurelia, greeted me with her usual warm smile. "Welcome home, son." She studied my face carefully. "Your face looks brighter today. You seem happier than yesterday?"
I was surprised. My mother always read me like a book. "Yes," I said, trying to smile. "I felt more comfortable today, I guess. I'm getting used to it slowly."
When we sat at the dinner table, I talked about the "show" I did in class today. When I mentioned knowing four programming languages, my father's face showed a proud expression. My mother, however, was more interested in the part about sitting next to Felissia. "Does she seem like a nice girl?" she asked with a mischievous smile.
After dinner, as I was about to retreat to my room, I noticed my sister Marcella's door was ajar. I looked inside. She was sitting on her bed, messing with her tablet. "How was your day?" I asked, leaning against the door.
She looked up and smiled. "It was good. How was yours?"
"It's not bad. There's no problem at school. If anyone bothers you or upsets you, tell me," I said with instinctive protectiveness. Your brother will teach them their place."
Marcella giggled. "Calm down, champion. Nobody's bothering me."
As I walked toward my room, I muttered to myself. Wasn't I going to be angry anymore? Why did I immediately think of a solution involving violence? Removing these old reflexes would be much more complicated than I thought.
I sat at my desk and opened my computer. I remembered an old cloud storage account from high school. Thinking there might be something useful in it, I entered my password. There were a bunch of forgotten files in the account. One folder caught my attention: "Minerva Upper Class Notes." A friend from high school had shared notes from his university brother with me.
When I opened the folder, my eyes lit up. It contained notes, presentations, and even past exam questions from classes Professor Quentillus and Professor Flavia had taught in previous years.
"This is it!" I whispered. Tomorrow's class was with Flavia again—topic: Advanced Probability Theory. I immediately opened the relevant file and started studying. Being prepared was the best defense. I buried myself in the notes for hours.
Just as I was absorbed in the lesson, notification sounds started coming from my phone one after another. It was the class group. Cassius had written, "Should we meet at the cafeteria for lunch tomorrow?" and several people had responded immediately.
I picked up my phone and hesitated for a moment before writing. If I responded immediately, I would seem too eager. I'll look tomorrow, I thought. Responding immediately would make me seem simple.
Messages kept coming. "Let's do this, let's go there..." I was disturbed by the noise. I should put it on silent. While turning off notifications, I thought of Myria. She was really right, I thought. Too many messages come from these groups.
I silently placed my phone on the desk and returned to my notes. But a corner of my mind was still with that group.
As I had focused on a complex formula in Flavia's notes, my phone screen lit up again. This time it wasn't a group notification but a private message. An unknown number appeared on the screen with a short message below:
Hello Octavian. I'm Ella from Livia's class. Can I talk to you about something after class tomorrow?
I froze. Ella... I remembered her introducing herself in Livia's class. A quiet, reserved girl. Why did she want to talk to me? A thousand scenarios began swarming in my mind.
Was she going to ask a class-related question? But why had she messaged privately? Or... or did she like me? This idea was as exciting as it was illogical. Those social interaction videos may have worked. Being indifferent and mysterious...
No, don't be ridiculous. It can't be that simple. It's definitely something class-related. But what if it's not?
I alternated between picking up my phone to reply and ignoring it and waiting until morning. My mind had become a battlefield full of possibilities and theories. This new mystery now overshadowed the tension of tomorrow's class.
I stared at the message for what felt like an eternity. Every fiber of my being wanted to respond immediately—to solve the mystery, to know what she wanted. But that same voice that had guided me with Felissia whispered its advice: Wait. Make her wonder. Mystery is attractive.
But what if it's urgent? Another part of me argued. What if she needs help with something meaningful?
I set the phone face down on my desk, trying to ignore how my heart hammered against my ribs. Tomorrow would bring answers. Tomorrow would bring another test of my carefully constructed new identity.
As I returned to Flavia's notes, one thought echoed: How many more masks would I need before I found out who I was underneath them all?
The formulas on the page blurred as exhaustion finally claimed me. But even as I prepared for bed, I couldn't shake the feeling that tomorrow would change everything—again